


And the shadows stirred

by paranoid_fridge



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Platonic to Romantic, Slow Burn, appearances by quite a few familiar faces, politics get in the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: Badly injured, Credence survives. 
In order to protect him from a swift execution, and find somebody to help him, Newt smuggles Credence on a ship to England. However, on the journey the two grow closer. Finding help is no longer urgent when Credence learns to handle his magic, and together they discover more about obscurials than has been known ever before. But when Newt is attacked, Credence shows that he has also started to figure out how to use his obscurus.
And the wizarding world suddenly is very, very interested.





	1. But lo, a stir is in the air!

**Author's Note:**

> Heads-up: Angst, violence (mostly offscreen), a good dose of dark implications (aka dark magic), and a hint of suicidal ideation feature in this chapter. We're also starting out with a student-mentor type relationship (platonic so far), which will take on romantic overtones. Mind that while this fic technically heads toward a happy ending, everybody will have to go through the wringer and stuff will get twisted along the way. 
> 
> (Also if you recognize where the chapter title comes from, you know where this is headed)

“Credence! Credence!” His consciousness returns to a voice hissing his name and a cool hand tapping his cheek with urgency. “Credence, wake up.”

He groans. A multitude of aches reasserts itself; fragments of memory flit past. His throat feels parched; the smell of ash and smoke lingers, and the screaming rings in his ears. 

“Credence, I’m sorry, but we have to hurry,” the voice comes again, piercing the thick fog. He remembers it. It spoke gently to him back when he …

When he was not. Not himself. 

Confusion surges.  _ How, what, why - magic is real, magic is evil, he cannot be magical, it’s not you, it’s a girl, a pendant, nonono, betrayal -   
_

“Come on, Credence,” the man insists, his touch gentle and warm, and Credence’s eyes reluctantly focus. The blurred world sharpens into a man’s face lined with concern hovering just overhead, blocking out the view charred tiles and a crumbling ceiling. He remembers (except it’s not really a memory. More of an impression burnt into his soul) concrete smashing. All those things gloriously bursting apart. 

“Stay with me,” the man entreats. He looks nice. He sounds nice. 

But so did Graves, and as the man reaches for his wand, Credence closes his eyes in exhausted resignation. Magic hurts. It always has.

“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at medical spells,” the man mutters, as he mumbles a strange sounding spell and points his wand at Credence’s torso. “This should take care of the pain for now; we’ll have to look at everything else later.”

The pain does indeed vanish. 

So did the pain when Graves cast his spells. And wasn’t the pain greater at the end of it? No matter how nice this man looks, Credence does not want to trust him. 

“Alright, let’s get you out of here” the other man announces and with surprising gentleness takes hold of Credence shoulders. “Tina can only keep them occupied for so long.”

Tina, them. He doesn’t know who those people are, or why he needs to get away. He’d rather they killed him then keep enduring the pain. Then to become another pawn in another wizard’s plot. Another wizard who looks friendly and acts kind. But he’s too tired to fight.

So he allows the wizard to drag him to his feet and carefully manoever him to an inconous brown suitcase lying just a bit away. He’s not surprised when it leads into a far larger space - but (magic is evil! Evil! Unnatural!) he had expected a darker, fearsome, and painful world to await him. 

Instead he finds himself in an open shed, staring at a small wagon set on a grassy field. Behind it, on the far left, a thick rainforest buzzes with life, just ahead an endless prairie stretches out. And right before him potted plans mumble and sway, colorful birds sing, and curious insects fly by. 

Credence stares in awe for a moment.

“Credence,” the wizard calls to him, and Credence turns to see a comfortable looking bed assembling itself from pieces of wood and clean linen. “Rest here for a bit. I’ll work things out up there, and hopefully be back in a jiffy.”

Credence nods numbly.

“We’ll take care of your injuries then,” the strange wizard (he looks younger than Graves. Less dignified. A little more human, perhaps?) adds. “You were badly injured, so please rest.”

* * *

After the wizard has gone, Credence is left staring. Wondering. 

What if he does not obey? Will the wizard get a belt? Use magic? An echo of a throb runs down his spine, and Credence shudders. Looks down at his hands. They stopped bleeding, but the skin is torn open; his knuckles are bruised and swollen, and several fingers look broken. 

He lifts them. Wriggles his fingers. 

His left pinky hangs limp, his ring and middle finger only follow the motions sluggishly. It makes him feel light-headed. But there’s no pain. Logically, he knows he should be in pain. Those spells - they hit his shoulders, his ribs, his face. 

He doesn’t dare touch his face. And he’s glad there is no mirror here. 

A tiny sound draws his attention and he looks down. While he was inspecting his hands, a fluffy sheep-like animal wandered up to him, and now gazes up at him with curiosity lighting its wide eyes. Credence takes an uncertain step backward.

The animal tilts its head. Then follows. 

This time it brushes against his legs and as its fur tickled Credence’s fingers he realizes it must feel incredibly soft. Before he quite knows what he’s doing, he has reached out, buried his finger in the fur, and is hit with bliss. 

He doesn’t even mind when the creature nudges him slowly toward the bed the wizard magicked into place for him. As long as he strokes that soft, cream-colored fur all his worries vanish. Pain and fear fade into the distance, and he basks in the warm glow that fills his chest until he hears the hatch open again, and the wizard returns. 

He looks surprised to see Credence awake. But if he’s displeased or angry, he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles. 

“I see you have you met Norlo, the resident Puffskein,” he says, and Credence flinches. Was he not allowed to touch it? Will he be punished for it?

“Keep petting him, he likes it,” the wizard says instead, and climbs down the rest of the staircase. “Puffskeins enjoy having your attention.”

And petting one is nicer than anything else Credence has experienced. 

The wizard pulls over a rickety chair and sits down. His body language warns Credence, and even the Puffskein’s warm aura cannot dispel the trepidation filling his chest. 

“I’m sorry I pulled you down here without asking, but there were too many people up there who would have acted first and asked questions later,” the wizard begins to explain. “Right now, many of them believe you died when the Obscurus vanished. Now, while this is obviously not true, I leave the decision to you.”

Credence blinks. “What …” his voice fails. His throat feels hoarse, mangled, and his eyes fall to his broken hands. Buried in soft fur, they look less smashed up. 

“You can go up there and let them know you survived,” the wizard says quietly. 

The truth. Yes. The truth is good. Tell the truth, and accept your punishment. Bear the pain, only to be met with more pain. 

Credence shudders, and the Puffskein makes a distressed sound. 

“Or you can stay here.” The wizard calmly folds his hands in his lap, his gaze locked on Credence. 

“Why?” Credence mumbles. 

And the wizard’s lips twitch. “Because it’s the right thing to do. You don’t deserve punishment for what the obscurus did - that was not your fault. Obscurials are incredibly rare, and I would like to learn more about them. But primarily, I want to help you.” 

Something in Credence’s chest shifts. Clenches. Warms. 

(This is going to hurt, something in the back of his mind screams. This will hurt so badly, remember Graves, remember all the others that spoke of help, that held out a hand, that promised so much and only brought pain).

He nods. 

The wizard smiles in relief. “Good! And now, we really need to look at your wounds! I’m sorry, I should have done that earlier.”

* * *

Newt Scamander smiles and talks and talks some more. Before long, the New York Wizarding Council is completely convinced Credence Barebone died with the Obscurus’ disappearance. The file is closed, and the people who know or suspect the truth remain thankfully silent. 

Grindelwald may have pursued the boy for his own ends, but if caught, Credence would either have faced a lifetime of being poked and prodded in various laboratories, or been promptly executed. The poor boy, Newt thinks, deserved neither. 

“What will you do now,” Tina asks him once the first uproar has quieted and they can talk without having to fear being overheard. Only very few pedestrians walk along the Hudson shore on this cold January afternoon. 

Newt glances at her. “Return to England,” he says. He didn't plan for his trip to be so short - there were place he wanted to visit, creatures he’d hoped to study. “I need to consult with Albus Dumbledore on a matter.”

Or rather, he'll need the support of Britain’s most powerful wizard in order to help Credence. Both to clear his name (he might need new papers. A whole new identity), and to deal with the parasite. 

“A pity, but it's probably for the best,” Tina agrees with a wearied sigh. And then stops walking, turns her gaze away from the wintery Hudson and back toward Newt. “Isn’t Albus Dumbledore … in cohorts with Grindelwald?”

A cold wind blows across the water and tugs at Newt’s hair. Tina shivers. 

“They … I don’t think he’d endanger the boy,” Newt hesitatingly replies. “When I was a student, Dumbledore always looked out for everyone’s best interests. But most of all, I think he’s the one most likely able to find a solution for the Obscurus.” 

Tina presses her lips together and looks toward the water again. “I hope you’re right.”

* * *

Before Newt left, he had given Credence two potions. One - that already smelled repugnant - to heal interior injuries. Broken bones, burst vessels. 

“It’s a very unpleasant experience, however,” Newt had added and set down a second potion. “This one should keep you asleep through the worst of it.”

Since then, to Credence time passes in starts and stops. Blurs and stretches, until eventually he awakens and finds himself staring up on an unfamiliar ceiling. He's warm and not in pain and gentle sunlight filters in through a nearby window. His gaze passes cluttered shelves until he finds the ginger-haired wizard seated next to his bed, engrossed in a book.

“Oh, hello Credence,” he greets, sets the book aside and steps over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

He's no longer in pain. But his memories are fuzzy - the tiny cluttered cabin with it’s warm wooden ceiling and walls decorated with papers and notes are utterly unfamiliar. He can’t even hear the constant noise of the city.

“Where am I?” His throat works surprisingly well; and his hands fly up to touch it. The skin there (and on his hands too) is smooth. Healed. 

“Well. We're on a ship traveling to England. But more precisely, we’re currently inside my suitcase.” The wizard smiles cheefully at him, and Credence blinks. 

He very dimly recalls being dragged into a suitcase - but that must have been a fever dream or some sort of hallucination, surely. 

“Who are you?” Credence asks.

“Oh, didn’t I  - I can’t believe I didn’t,” the wizard mutters, just as a tiny, impossibly bright green bird lands on his hair. “I'm Newt Scamander. Pleased to meet you.” The bird chirps happily, looking mightily confident on its chosen perch. 

“What do you want?” Credence demands to know, panic rising in his chest as his memories blur.  _ Help you, help you, help you _ . He can’t remember who said it, can only remember what came after. 

Newt’s smile vanishes. “To help you, Credence,” he says, his eyes shadowed.

“I know it must not see very believable to you, but us wizards are not all the same. I want to help you with your magic and the obscurus.”

“My magic?!” Credence spits out. “That's a lie! You know I have no … no magic!

I’m a … a squib!” But he's seen it, hasn't he? His voice shakes at the end, disgust on his tongue, and phantom pain from cold belt buckle on his back. 

The tiny bird chirps in distress. Newt’s expression falls further, but gentles. “You have quite a lot of magic, Credence. Let me show you something.”

Newt stands, and Credence warily follows. He is surprised when his body doesn’t protest as he rises from the bed - just a small hint of light-headedness that promptly vanishes. Vaguely he recalls the wizard - Newt - speaking of healing potions, and drinking something that tasted incredibly foul (his face twists at the memory) -

And then the door opens, sunlight floods into the shed, and Credence stares at an unlikely (but familiar) scenery. 

He has been here before. After the fight. After …

A strange gurgling sound draws him from his thoughts and Credence spies what looks like a huge cloud of fur trotting over toward him. Big eyes regard him, and then the fur is pushed against his fingers.

Warmth spreads through his chest. The anxiety fades; his shoulders relax. 

“Puffskeins only have that effect on people with magic,” Newt explains, while Credence basks in the sensation. “Touching them is enjoyable for muggles, too, but has no soothing effect. The same is also true for Puffskeins, which is why they prefer witches and wizards. And Norlo has truly taken to liking you.”

Something unfamiliar tugs at the corners of Credence’s face. To his own surprise, he finds himself smiling, while his fingers continue to run through the soft fur between them. The voices in his head that always, always remind him of pain, have quieted. 

He gazes up. Looks past Newt, and the incredible space surrounding them. A rainforest behind the tiny shed. Vast plains next to it, mountains at the horizon. A lake glitters next to the rainforest, seemingly unending. 

Curiosity (so long, so brutally subdued) raises its head for the first time in forever. 

“What is this place?” Credence asks in wonder. Magic, yes, but even considering what magic he’s seen (and its unnaturalness he was warned off), have never suggested  _ this. _

“A magical space inside a suitcase,” Newt replies contently and reaches up to lift the tiny bird from his head. “Back to your friends you go,” he mumbles, and despite a protesting chirp, the small thing takes flight and vanishes into the rainforest. “With certain spells you can expand the dimensions of the inside of objects - it’s commonly done with houses, bags, and suitcases. As it's a complicated bit of magic, most folks prefer to purchase suitcases like this premade.”

“But as I had specific requirements, I ended up creating most of this myself,” Newt adds and gazes around with no small amount of pride. 

And looking at him, Credence feels both warmed and amazed. Maybe he should be wary. Maybe he should not trust him. But in this warm space, surrounded by all those friendly creatures, Credence finds himself giving in to his heart. 

“If you are interested, I think you could learn doing something like this yourself,” Newt adds after a moment. 

“I could?” Credence echoes incredulously. 

Newt shrugs. “Well, not at once. But you have quite some magical talent, and we do have a bit of time before the ship reaches England.” 

And for the first time in ages, Credence feels hope blossom in his chest.

* * *

The journey from New York to England is not too long, and Newt is not too unhappy Credence does not protest spending it in the suitcase. Certainly, on a ship this size one more passenger wouldn't even be noticed; but Newt doesn't know if other wizards are on board and whether or not they would recognise Credence. 

Credence in turn, dedicates himself to the study of magic with surprising passion. He reads book after book and starts to befriend other creatures as well. Not all take to him easily - they sense the obscurus clinging to him, but for all that Newt is prepared for an incident, nothing happens. 

It’s as if the obscurus disappeared.

For all that he has had little of a formal education, the boy learns fast. If he at first struggled through even the simple books, he progressively increases his speed. By the time they disembark in Liverpool, Newt lets him attempt simple potions.

Dumbledore might be able to find a good tutor for him, Newt thinks. Once they’ve taken care of the obscurus, Credence might find himself making a career in the magical world yet. 

“Credence,” Newt begins tentatively one evening when they're finishing a makeshift dinner. They reached England yesterday and Newt rented a room in a nearby inn - the landlady was happy to provide them with a small dinner. “Have you … do you know what an obscurus is?”

Credence nods, and swallows down the last bite. “A magical parasite,” he replies. “It forms when magic is suppressed, usually in young children. Unless the magic is tamed, it always ends deadly. No one has ever successfully separated an obscurus from its host.”

He's obviously read the very short entry on obscurials in both the  _ Mahou Dobutsu no Chou _ and the  _ Zaubertierfibel _ , Newt realizes with a sharp nod.   


“Do you…” understand what this means for you? Newt finds the words stuck in his throat. 

Credence nods, unaffected. “I'm hosting one as well,” he states. “It's why that wizard was interested in me. It's why you also prefer that I stay in here.”

Newt cringes. “If you want to go out -”

“Not at all,” Credence replies, and in the back of his mind Newt wonders how Credence gained this eloquence. The boy sitting across from him at the table acts and looks very different from the one he picked up in New York. “I understand it's safer for everyone, and that includes myself.” His eyes are hard as he says it.

Newt nods. “Yes, yes, certainly. It's just, with magic we can take certain precautions and …”

“I have no desire to leave this space,” Credence announces confidently, and tugs one strand of his dark hair behind his ear. He looks more and more like a wizard, nowadays.

“Well, yes…” Newt trails off, and then decides to continue that discussion another time. “Actually, there was something I wanted to show you.”

He steps away from the table and walks a few steps onto the open ground. Credence follows him, but keeps his distance as Newt raises his wand and speaks the words. 

A portal into the glacial space opens. The wind howls, snow flies through the air - but Newt’s eyes already picked out the hovering black shape of the obscurus in the distance. 

“The books, as you have already realised, aren't always right,” he says and casts a short warming charm first on Credence, then on himself. “Obscurials are very rare and little researched, so I suppose those mistakes are unsurprising.”

Credence mutters something, but the wind drowns it out.

“While most authors believe that obscuri vanish as their hosts die, I have found that it isn't so.” The dancing black shape approaches. 

Credence’s eyes widen. “Is this…?”

“An obscurus,” Newt confirms. “I captured it, but couldn't save its host.” 

“Oh,” Credence says softly, and Newt’s fingers tighten around his wand as the obscurus drifts past him and stops an arm’s length before Credence. Its eery, dark light falls over Credence’s face, and the boy’s dark eyes seem to darken even further. 

Silence enfolds them.

Both parties hover, blind to the world around them. Newt wonders if this was a good idea - there is not even anecdotal evidence on encounters between obscurials. He's risking too much.

And yet, the voice in his gut that has always guided him, that had always helped to handle all the magical creatures had insisted. Parasites they may be, but obscurials are magical creatures, too. They may have been classified as dark, but considering how little is known about them -

“It's … I don't think it wants to hurt anybody,” Credence says quietly, and Newt jumps. “And I think it misses its host. She must have been a lovely girl?”

Newt’s heart skips a beat, and his fingers unconsciously grip his wand a little tighter. “How do you know that?” 

Credence lips curl into a small smile. “I can sense it.”

A shudder runs down Newt’s spine. “Is it talking to you?” Maybe this was a terrible idea all along. Maybe he should have never even contemplated letting two obscurials meet. 

“Not talking,” Credence replies, his entire demeanour still so strangely changed and gentle. “It's letting me know without words. I think I reminded it of its former host.”

Newt nods, torn between wariness and fascination. He thinks he can almost see the obscurus reacting to Credence, feel the bubble that surrounds those two. It seems barely there, deceptively fragile, but underneath Newt sense an immense power. 

No wonder Grindelwald was after it. Power like this… 

Newt shakes the glum thoughts from his head, and decides he’d rather focus on research instead.

“Do you think you could help me answer a few questions, then?” Newt asks. Credence smiles at him, for once looking actually happy. The snow doesn’t touch him at all. 

“I would like that.”

* * *

Newt finds another cottage to rent. It's high up in the Scottish moors and remote enough that the next neighbor’s are an hour on foot away. There are too many questions to answer, and Dumbledore won’t be leaving Hogwarts soon. They don’t need to hurry.

The man handing Newt the keys to the cottage looks at him strangely, to which Newt offers his most charming smile.

“I really need to finish my book,” he explains, and it’s not entirely a lie. Credence and him are co-authoring what will be the first detailed study on obscurials. 

“Eh, you writer folks,” the man says, and with that his curiosity disappears. 

So time passes. In the remoteness of Scotland, Credence and Newt grow ever more familiar. They work on the obscurials daily, only taking breaks for food and necessary tasks. While Newt cares for his creatures or leaves on his rare grocery trips to the next village, Credence continues to study diligently. 

Freed from the shackles of his environment, he’s unfolding into a true genius. 

He needs a wand, Newt thinks, watching his protege pet Norlo who has curled up on his feet with one hand, while turning the pages of his book (advanced magical theory) with the other. With a wand he could practice spells, advance further - 

But in order to get him a wand, they’d need to visit Diagon Alley, and for that they need help. Newt contemplates apparating over and just strolling him - there is a chance they might not be stopped, but the wandmakers will have questions. How does a boy (young man, Newt has to remind himself. Credence will turn 18 soon) only now get his first wand? Even if they get a wand and make it back, they will be followed, and somebody will identify Newt. 

Albus Dumbledore could help. 

However, something always comes up, and before they know it, spring is turning into summer and Newt wonders if he isn’t stalling. Has he truly become so jealous that he'd rather not share his discovery? Is keeping Credence safe from callous researchers and an overzealous wizengamot just his pretext for keeping the brilliant young man to himself?

Credence has changed further. For all that he still has no interest in the outside world, he's grown eloquent and knowledgeable. He has grown into his features; now wears his hair long, and sits straight. 

He has become attractive, Newt admits to himself. 

And because he can feel his own body warming with desire, Newt should truly contact Dumbledore. 

“Should we look into getting you a wand?” he asks one day as he and Credence work on another experimental potion. “It would make a lot of this easier.” He lifts his own wand, gestures at a jar from his stock and says  _ Accio _ . 

Credence gives him an amused smile. Lifts his hand, gestures wordlessly, and another jar floats toward them. 

Newt’s jaw drops. He manages to keep the jar from dropping at the last moment.

Incredible. Utterly incredible. 

Next to him, Credence laughs quietly to himself. Eyes scrunched up, half-hidden behind a hand - and Newt wonders if he’s heard him laugh before, because it is an endearing sound. He’s even willing to forgive this shocking discovery!   


“How did you - when did you even learn to do this?” Newt bursts out, waving his arms, forgetting about the potion.

“A little bit ago, and I think the obscurus helped,” Credence acknowledges after with bashfully turned down eyes. “At least it's helping me channel my magic. I … when I read Cho’s theory of magical waves, I felt it could be applied to the obscurus, too. And since he applies it to the use of magic in general, I … translated that in a way that allows me to use it.”

A shudder runs down Newt’s spine. An obscurus alone had drawn Grindelwald all the way from Europe to the United States. This degree of control suggests a new dimension of power slumbering behind Credence’s gentle features. “This is incredible.”

Credence smiles softly. “Unprecedented, I know.”

“Yes, and only very powerful magicians are capable of wandless magic,” Newt adds. He can manage a few spells, but nothing complicated. Vanishing a potion about to explode is fortunately one of them.

“I was thinking about that,” Credence says. “Not all children that suppress their magic end up an obscurus - I would hypothesise that only children whose innate magical talent is … well, for the lack of an accurate scale, stronger, grow the parasite.”

Newt turns it over in his head. “It's certainly possible.” 

The devastation caused by all documented cases certainly suggests strong magic. Though an kind of magical build up resulting in an explosion might also posit a possible explanation. 

“Also…” Credence begins but is interrupted by the sound of bells. 

Both exchange a surprised glance.

“Somebody's approaching the house,” Newt says and turns to the staircase leading up. “Maybe some lost hikers?” 

* * *

A shudder runs through the world. Credence sets the book aside, brows furrowing. 

This is -

A second shudder; the birds shrill with fear. Something crumbles, and Credence jumps to his feet. The suitcase’s inner dimensions depend on Newt’s magic. If they're suffering damage (and he can see the horizon curling, some portals becoming unsteady, snowflakes drifting into the rainforest) something must have happened to Newt.

Credence races up the ladder before he's quite thought about it, and pushes open the lid. The obscurus coils at the back of his mind, its power tingling in Credence’s fingers, and whoever is doing this, whoever is hurting Newt will  _ pay _ . 

He bursts in on a scene that makes his stomach twist.

Newt lies curled up on his side, eyes half-closed, blood covering the side of his face. Four men stand around him, one holding up a bloodied shovel.

They stare at him in surprise.

“Where did you freak -” 

The man never gets to finish his sentence. 

_tbc_


	2. The waves have now a redder glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout means Newt and Credence have to abandon their cozy little cottage. Settling down in London gives them an opportunity to develope their relationship, and Credence starts interacting with the world again.
> 
> But the world has started changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU!!! to everybody who read this and replied! I'd had some doubts I'd be able to write the chapter over the weekend, but here we are :3 
> 
> Now, we have some blood and recovery from injuries. Violence, hints of dark magic, and our two dudes stumbling their way into a more intimate relationship. Albus Dumbledore cameo! Also 5+k (when did that happen? tbh, if somebody here would enjoy betaing this to improve flow + cut out superfluous stuff, lemme know!)

When Newt opens the door to greet the four lost hikers, the hair on the back of his neck stands. The men - all rugged, weather-worn, in jackets and trousers that have seen better days - smile at him, and nod politely.  

“Yah, yah, we got turn’d round out on the moor,” one says as he makes his way past Newt without invitation. “Kind of you to let us in.”

His companions follow, spreading about the cottage’s small entrance room, dragging mud over the hardwood floors. Nothing Newt can’t clean with a flick of his wand, but he notices one slipping him to gaze into the kitchen, another inspecting the wardrobe with strange curiosity, and the fourth man disappears behind him.

“Oh, were you out hunting truffles?” Newt asks, because he saw one of them carry a shovel. Up close, they carry big, empty packs - perhaps not hikers then? He’s heard that some of the folks down on their luck go looking for truffles.

“Eh, yah. Somethin’ like that,” the man agrees, exposing brown teeth. His coat is worn; the scarf washed out grey, his nose red and bloated. He doesn’t have the look of somebody hiking in the countryside for leisure, or truffles.

Still.

Newt clears his throat and pushes his misgivings down. “Would you like some tea to warm up? I’m afraid we don’t have a phone, but the next village…”

“No phone?” one of the other men echoes, laughing in a manner that sends a shudder down Newt’s spine. “It’s our lucky day!”

Enough, Newt thinks, and reaches for the wand hidden in the pocket of his coat. If they try something, he’ll use magic. “What -”

Something hard collides with the back of his head.

He hits the floor, vision flickering between black and red. Hot liquid trickles down the side of his face, his ribs hurt, and his fingers twitch uncontrollably, unable to grasp the wand lost in the depth of pockets. But he needs it, needs to defend himself and -

A boot connects with his ribs. “Oi, you, writer boy,” one of the men calls, looking down at him with his arms folded at the grip of a shovel. Its naked blade glints with blood, and his watery gaze has turned disdainful. “Where’s the money? Your daddy wouldn’t ‘ve let yeh come here without some good hard cash. I know your type.”

Footsteps all around them; bangs and clanging from where they’ve started taking the cottage apart. Newt’s head aches, his chest hurts, and his lungs burn.

The boot prods him again. A pained whimper escapes him – his ribs are on fire; his vision flickers white and red, and the world fades into pain.

“Speak up, boy. Yeh know, it needn’t hurt that much. Just tell it where it is and we’ll stop. And yeh can go home and cry t’yeh daddy.” Just for a moment the pressure lessens. Newt sucks in sharp breath of air, trying to his fingers into the pocket, trying to ignore the blackness flickering at the edges of his vision.

“Boss, there’s nothing here,” somebody calls from the kitchen, and of course they won’t find anything there, Newt things. They’ve gotten everything wrong, but that doesn’t make the pain in his chest stop, or his fingers work.

“If he hid the stuff, he hid it good,” a third member of the group of robbers chimes in. “There’s just some useless plunder. Doubt that’ll make anything much.”

“Make him sing.”  Number two orders.

Newt’s blood turns cold.

He really, really needs his wand now, but his fingers refuses to cooperate, the muscles spasming from the pain, and only dimly he hears another, new set of footsteps approach.

“Where did you freak -”

Magic surges.

It’s powerful, incredibly powerful and merciless as it reaches for the men. Yet simultaneously amazingly gentle as tendrils of black power wrap around Newt, protecting him from the tumult, the screaming. The world grows distant; the pain lessens, and he wonders if this is what being possessed by an obscurus feels like.

Everything fades to black.

* * *

 

Credence does not let the men speak.

This time, he wills the obscurus to take over, feels his own desires align with its dark desire to destroy. The expression of horror on the men’s faces as he shifts gives him joy. They hurt Newt.

Newt who was kind, who taught Credence so many, many things. Who was the first who believed in him.

He’s not going to stand by and watch a group of random nomajs hurt Newt. No, they will taste what true power means. They will learn the meaning of fear. The blood staining the collar of Newt’s shirt makes Credence’s blood boil.

And the obscurus takes that anger, that power – and lashes out.

Credence relishes in watching it tear the men apart, tastes their terror, soaks up their terrified screams. The one that tries to run does not get further than two steps because he is the obscurus, he is stronger than anybody in this room, and they will know.

They will fear him, and he will finish them.

“Cre…dence,” a familiar voice mutters weakly. And through the cacophony of death and destruction Credence hears it. And halts.

He leaves the men where they are - their bones are broken, they’re senseless with fear, and he can always find them, and moves closer to Newt. Anxiety fills his chest as he takes in the man’s condition.

There is blood on Newt’s face, and he's barely holding himself in a sitting position. Pain paints tiny wrinkles on his brow and the way he holds his chest suggests a broken rib. There is a matching dirt stain on his waistcoat.

Credence feels an echo of that pain. The obscurus howls.

Make them pay, make them pay, make them pay.

“That's enough, Credence,” Newt huffs out, struggling to remain conscious. “They’re finished.”

They're not dead yet, Credence thinks darkly. They haven’t paid yet. They haven’t suffered enough.

“Please?” Newt asks, and then his lips twitch into a self-depreciating smile. “Because I fear I rather need your help.”

Of course.

The obscurus recedes immediately, and Credence is himself again. He staggers for a moment, disoriented by the shift, then sinks to his knees next to Newt, hands hovering uncertainly. He's only read very little about medical magic, and has no practice at all.

And that stain on Newt’s shirt is growing as blood continues to run down from a deep cut near his hairline.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks and can hear his heart hammering. He doesn’t know much about magical medicine, but Credence Barebone knows how to patch up cuts and bruises.

Newt grimaces. “It's not that bad,” he manages, but then has to cough and wince. Credence fingers clench helplessly. Muggles have little to help with the pain – maybe there’s magic, but he’s not certain. He recalls the potion Newt gave him; he might be able to identify it, and -

Newt sucks in a shuddering, visibly painful breath. “First, can you fetch the Hungarian Horntail-based healing balm? It's in the back of the potions closet.”

Horntail-based balm - Credence can envision it. He knows which jar and where it is. And summons it wordlessly.

Newt’s eyes widen in surprise, but he’s in too much pain to comment.

“What about your ribs?” Credence asks as he unscrews the jaw and holds it out for Newt. Who hisses even louder as he dabs the minty-smelling balm liberally onto his face.

The cut there steams, and then slowly begins to knit itself back together. Newt wipes the blood away, and Credence is relieved when only a trickle of fresh blood follows.

“I guess I have no choice but to use the potion. But I'll take it over night - there's nothing quite as uncomfortable as feelings your bones knit themselves back together,” Newt grumbles and tries to get his feet under him.

He stumbles and Credence hurries to catch him. Lends him his shoulder to lean on as Newt gets his wand out of his cloak.

“But first let’s take care of this,” he announces. “Reparo.”

Credence watches the furniture slowly reassemble itself. Stocking, too, and abruptly he realizes that the spell is too much of a drain for Newt at this point.

“I can do this,” Credence says and reaches out to rest his own hand atop Newt’s. The spell flickers out. “Is there somewhere you can lie down? Or sit down at least.”

Newt blinks, and grimaces. “You’re right, but we can’t stay here – I’m pretty sure some monitoring spell noticed the obscurus and we won’t be alone for much longer. We also need to do something about those four.”

Credence purses his lips, and tightens his grip around Newt’s waist. Feeling the shudders and flinches that run through the other, he wants to kill those four. They deserve it – they’d not have hesitated either.

“Mermaids’ tears,” Credence suggests instead. “That way they won't remember anything.”

Newt looks about to protest for a moment. Mermaids’ tears are less precise than oblivion spells; but he’s in no shape to cast anything complicated. Credence would likely wipe all their memories – there’s still anger rolling in his stomach.

“Alright. The tears, and then we leave,” Newt forces out. He’s leaning more heavily on Credence who frowns and looks for a spot – but there’s no chair in the tiny entrance room; only a muddy rug. It’ll have to do, Credence decides, and carefully allows Newt to slide to the ground.

The wizard’s eyelashes flutter. He looks strangely vulnerable and exposed (unlike himself), so Credence shrugs off his own cloak and rests it across Newt’s torso.  “I’ll be quick.”

“No,” Newt mumbles deliriously, weakly reaching up to catch Credence’s shirt. “You need to run… Credence, they can’t find you.”

“I’m not going to leave you here,” Credence replies decisively. “What will they do to you? If I'm not here and they can see something happened and they find you -” Only thinking about it makes Credence angry. He can feel the power of the obscurus tingle in his fingers.

If any wizard approaches, they won’t know what hit them.

Newt forces a pained smile. “... I'll be alright.”

And Credence doesn't need his obscurus whispering to know that this is a lie.

Credence bites down on his lower lip, and turns away from the catatonic man before him. He accios the brown leather suitcase.

“But I won’t be,” Credence announces, and in a reversion of their encounter not too long ago pushes a shoulder under Newt and lifts him up. “Let’s just both get away.”

“Credence..” Newt begins to protest.

“It's for the best,” Credence says and slowly maneuvers them forward and into the suitcase. “Think about it. I don't know anybody in this country. And what would happen to all your creatures? Can you imagine what the bureaucrats would do with them?”

Newt flinches, and Credence knows he agrees.

His creatures seem to fall silent as Credence half-carries Newt down the stepladder. Puffskein Norlo neighs in distress and immediately approaches. He’s a welcome companion, Credence thinks. Newt seems to have entirely passed out – Credence gently sets him down on the cot right next to the ladder.

The potions cabinet to the left of it. Credence itches to pick out the potions; to take care of Newt – but he knows he must look after the situation above. Before the nomajs run. Before any investigating wizards arrive.

A tiny sound stops him as he turns to climb back up. Newt’s eyes are barely open, but he’s trying his best to smile, and Credence’s heart clenches.  “There's some muggle money and papers in my coat on the hanger. Try to get away from here.”

Credence nods sharply. He’ll see them to the other side of the world if necessary. 

* * *

 

Credence takes a deep breath and closes the cottage door behind him. The nomajs won’t remember a thing. And there are no witches or wizards nearby, the obscurus whispers at the back of his mind.

There is nobody around, it continues, and for the first time in months Credence gazes at the world. In the light of a bright moon he can make out gently sloping hills, and a cool breeze tugs at his hair.

Gravel crunches under his feet. And he decides follow the road – it will lead him to the village.

Yet in the end, he walks past the village. It’s a small place, stopping there would attract attention - if they are indeed being hunted, leaving no trace is for the best. So Credence walks on, following the road south.

It’s a warm summer night. His shoes have good soles, and nothing aches. The obscurus hums contently at the back of his mind, and a foreign feeling of confidence rises in Credence’s chest.

Newt will heal; and the fear slowly seeps from Credence’s veins. The other man will be alright – Credence will make sure he has time to recover. The nomajs won’t remember; their trace will disappear into thin air.  They can go wherever they choose. And for the first time in his life, Credence realizes, he is truly free.

He casts a glance at the glittering stars above and smiles. It’s beautiful - he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything like it before.

There is so much more to the world, so much more to discover and see. And now that he has tasted it - freedom and power and beauty - he wants more. With a spring in his step he continues forward, smiling cheerfully even as the sky in the east begins to lighten and a clear summer day dawns.

* * *

 

Despite feeling like he could continue walking forever, Credence eventually spies a small copse of trees and takes a rest in their shadow. With only a few fluffy white clouds blowing across an endless summer sky, temperatures have risen. He has shrugged of his coat and now spreads it over lush green grass.

Looks at the wildflowers, wonders if nomajs have recipes using them, too.

Then he opens the suitcase and disappears inside.

The wooden stepladder creeks under him, and the ever-warm air of the magical dimension immediately envelopes him. Several birds trill loudly, and one even flies over. Norlo neighs at him from where he has firmly planted himself next to the makeshift cot where Newt lies, pale and unmoving.

Credence frowns as a stab of unease runs through his chest.

He gently pushes past the puffskein, though Newt stirs already.

“Credence?” he asks, squinting up. His color isn’t good, but the wound on the side of his face has closed up. The remaining bruise, however, is rather frightening (and likely hurts. Credence knows this from experience). He has also lost the waistcoat and changed into a clean, somewhat oversized shirt.

“I’m here,” Credence replies.

“Where are we? Did you get away?” Newt asks, pushing himself up with visibly growing anxiety. “Did somebody follow you? What -”

Credence reaches out and gently pushes Newt back onto the mattress. “Nobody followed me, don’t worry. I’m afraid I don’t exactly know where we are right now - I’ve been following the road south.”

“You didn’t sleep?” Newt asks immediately, frowning.

“I didn’t need to,” Credence replies with a bashful smile. “It was nice to keep walking, and will probably help to obscure our trail a bit. Don’t worry, I’ll rest later.”

Newt doesn’t look terribly happy. “See that you do that,” he affirms. And then, after taking a deep breath, makes a second attempt to get up. He manages to raise his upper body, before he crumbles in pain.

Credence bites his lower lip. He knows that kind of pain only too well - and he also knows that both muggle and magical medicine have little to address it with except for potions that dull all senses.

“Newt,” he begins tentatively. “How about you rest some more? That injury will need a while until it’s completely healed, and I don’t mind walking.”

Newt lifts his head and catches Credence’ eyes with a grimace. “But…”

“Really,” Credence insists and smiles. “I like this place - it’s quite different from New York, and I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of it. Just tell me where to go, and I’ll get us there.”

Newt hesitates for a moment. Then he allows himself to slump back against the pillows. “You’ve come quite a way, Credence,” he murmurs in wonder, his eyes already closing. “I was thinking London. With some luck I still have a friend or two down there.”

Lead by instinct Credence reaches out and picks up Newt’s hand. Gives it a reassuring press while saying: “Alright, we’ll go to London.”

He lifts the hand (fine-boned and scarred, but not as scarred as Credence’) to his lips and presses a soft kiss on its back. “You just rest.” 

* * *

 

The journey to reach London takes the better part of three days, and a liberal application of magic. Credence is glad for the obscurus’ ability to sense other witches and wizards nearby - but nobody is around when he changes his clothes into a respectable navy suit with a matching cloak, and a fashionable bowtie.

Nomajs, or muggles (lately he’s been growing fonder of the term) are highly receptive to appearances. So when Credence visits the London office of a realtor and speaks of looking to rent a flat for him and his associate, the man’s eyes light up.

“We have very nice houses near Kensington,” the man suggests. “Very quiet and respectable area.”

Eventually Credence picks an apartment in the northern part of London. The realtor doesn’t look too closely at his (Newt’s) papers, especially when Credence adds a generous tip. A part of him watches all of this with dark amusement - what different a place the world has become. 

* * *

 

Newt has mostly recovered when Credence descends the stepladder. Clad in an oversized white shirt while seated on the cot, Newt is feeding a flock of tiny, bunny-like creatures, while the bright green bird has once again nestled in his hair. Norlo greets Credence with a nicker, and trots over to rub against his legs.

“I found a place,” Credence announces, and reaches up to brush a strand of his own hair out of his face. “It's nice, but pretty out of the way.”

Newt gives him a brilliant, grateful smile. The color has returned to his cheeks, though the oversized shirt makes him appear strangely elfin. “Thank you, Credence. I'm not sure where I'd be without you.”

Credence shakes his head and drops down next to Newt. “Not in this mess,” he assesses with a sigh. Having been out and about has made him wonder if he’s not been imposing on Newt greatly.

However, Newt holds no such concerns and just shrugs. “Eh, I’m pretty good at getting into messes. Getting out of them, too.”

“Then I'm glad you’re with me,” Credence replies honestly, as something warm envelopes his heart. “I'm only good at getting into them.”

Newt reaches over to squeeze his knee. “You got us out of this one just fine.”

Credence looks at him and finds his face close – he can make out individual freckles, the delicate hairs of his eyelashes. Heat floods his cheeks, and his fingers unconsciously seek out Newt’s hand.

A faint flush crawls over Newt’s cheeks. “Credence…” he sets out.

Credence hunches his shoulders. “I know,” he admits, and the echoes of the abuse Mary Lou shouted at him fill his ears. “... this is wrong. I'm sorry, I -” He can’t bring himself to look up.

“No, Credence, it's not wrong,” Newt interrupts him with a sharp shake of his head. “Or at least I don't think so. You'll find enough Wizards and witches who think it is, but I've always… you know, I study magical creatures. I was in the war. I … there's much wrong in the world, but I don't think love is wrong.”

“Even love between two men?” Credence challenges, lifting his head.

Newt purses his lips. “Or between two women. I don't think it is wrong,” he declares defensively.

And a wave of relief breaks over Credence. He feels his shoulders relax. “I … think so too.”  His heart warms with hope; with something he’s long thought a fairytale but felt creeping back in lately. He leans closer.

Perhaps this is not a good time, a part of his brain cautions him. Newt has just recovered; they only just got to London. This conversation wasn’t planned either, and this might be too fast, too far  -

Credence closes his eyes and decides to find out.

Newt’s lips are soft. Warm. A little chapped.

Newt is not pushing him away. So he dares deepen the contact. Increases the pressure. Traces and tastes those lips with the tip of his tongue - a hint of honey, mint, and medicine.

Newt’s fingers tighten around his hand.

* * *

 

Newt isn’t sure.

Of course, he has noticed Credence. The change has been remarkable - and the young man that now reaches out push Newt’s shirt off his shoulder is stunningly attractive. Of course, he has grown attached to him. And of course, he’s since realized that Credence is no longer his charge; can easily hold his own, and pursue his own interests.

In this, too.

So why not? Credence obviously wants this.

A small noise escapes Newt as Credence licks a wet trail over one exposed nipple. He can’t deny desiring this, too.

He still doesn’t know if it’s right.

But, he thinks and reaches up to undo Credence’s tie, maybe it’s worth trying to find that out.

* * *

 

They settle in London. Newt makes a few excursions into Diagon Alley, while Credence usually sticks to the muggle parts of the city. Their neighbors - at first taken aback at the presence of two bachelors cohabitating - soon are won over my Credence’s charm. If they ever hear anything odd, they never mention it.

“Did you hear?” Newt overhears a witch clad in a dark green robe say while he browses the latest publications on potions in a Diagon Alley bookstore. “There was an attack in Bordeaux last week.”

“I thought they’d finally settled things with Grindelwald?” her companion replies, and Newt reaches for a book, while keeping his ears on the conversation.

“Yeah, it looks as if perhaps somebody else was behind it,” the witch says, and then lowers her voice. “They’re saying it was the muggles.”

“Muggles?” her friends’ voice jumps up. “But how?”

“They have all those weapons…” And with that they turn to leave, and the conversation disappears from Newt’s range of hearing. With a frown, he puts the book back and walks to the shop’s counter, studying the newspapers he passes.

Truly, Grindelwald’s terror has disappeared from the headlines. Instead they scream about wizards and witches killed by muggles.

A shudder runs down his spine.

Frowning, Newt reaches out and picks up one of the papers. Group of four killed by bomb, the headline proclaims. Apparently the four had been out on the countryside, testing broomsticks, when an explosive had set off and killed them before any protective spells could have been cast. The subsequent investigation revealed an explosive device buried in the ground - and the journalist continues to cite several senior members of the British ministry of magic wondering if the bomb had been planted on purpose.

The statue of secrecy has not been damaged, the overwrought-looking Minister of Magic says. But, the journalist suggests, the muggles seem to know. Or at least seem intent on developing weapons magic cannot protect against.

* * *

 

As summer turns into autumn, Newt finally sends a letter to Albus Dumbledore. Credence initially isn't happy.

“You've read nearly every book I own,” Newt says. “You know my beasts better than I do myself, and you're brilliant, Credence! With a good tutor and access to more books, you could go far!”

Credence sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t like people.”

“You charmed everyone in the neighborhood. Why do you think the lady at the bakery regularly gives you a little extra?” Newt counters and leans back from his desk. The manuscript is coming along nicely - not that many publishers will consider bowtruckles exciting.

Two hands settle on his shoulders and gently begin to massage the tense muscles there.

“They’re muggles,” Credence says, overstressing the British enunciation of the word. He’s been doing this a lot lately, Newt thinks. But then it’s easier to fit in when one’s accent doesn’t clearly reveal different origins. “I’m not sure I’m so keen on the company of wizards.”

He leans down and whispers the next words into Newt’s ear. “You are all I need.”

A shiver runs down Newt’s spine and straight to his groin. Lips brush past his ear; an exhale stirs his hair and brushes his cheek, and with a soft sigh Newt allows his eyes to shut and offer his throat. Warm lips descend on the pale flesh there, stimulating it, while Credence’s hands wander.

One slips into the open collar of Newt’s shirt, exploring the hidden skin, and Newt’s fingers involuntarily twitch. He tries to reach up, find Credence; though one hand fumbles blindly in the air. Credence catches the other and interlaces their fingers.

His lips leave Newt’s throat. With half-lidded eyes Newt glances at Credence, who smiles enticingly, his eyes aglow and his cheeks sporting that rare, warm flush. Newt’s own heart warms, and he smiles himself.

Then an unfortunate neighing from the outside reminds them of the still open door.

A helpless giggle escapes Newt, while Credence turns and simply spells the door shut with a flick of his wrist.

“Now, where were we?” he says and the air of those words tickles the sensitive flesh of Newt’s throat.

“Discussing … the future, I believe,” Newt manages.

“The immediate future?” Credence says. “I predict it looks very good.” 

* * *

 

“Professor Dumbledore,” Newt inclines his head as the Hogwarts professor enters the public gazebo they have chosen for their meeting. It’s a dreary October day, but several charms keep the inside of the gazebo warm and dry, and any passing muggles away.

“Dreadful weather,” Albus Dumbledore says and dries his umbrella with a wave of his hand. Next to Newt, Credence straightens where he sits. “Good to see you, Newt. And pleased to meet you, Mister?”

He offers his hand, and following Newt’s example, Credence shakes it. “Credence Barebone,” he announces smoothly.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, now, that is a name I haven’t heard in a bit.”

Newt presses his lips together as they all sit down. He can only hope Dumbledore will not betray them now - to Grindelwald or the Ministry.

“Indeed?” Credence returns easily. “I was not aware I had attained fame, but I consider it an honor an eminent wizard such as you would have heard of me.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rise even higher. Surprise flickers across his face, paired with disbelief. Then it settles and the ever-present twinkling in his eyes sparks to life. “My dear boy, for a moment I thought I was mistaken. By all reports I heard this Mister Barebone was supposed to be a very shy young man.”

Newt’s fingers tighten in the fabric of his trousers. This isn’t how he imagined this conversation - but Credence shows no sign of discomfort and by the tilt of his head seems to enjoy the confrontation.

“You must have spoken to very kind observers,” Credence replies. “I’d rather describe the Credence of that time as miserable and unhappy.”

“Oh, and how about that boy’s magic potential?” Dumbledore asks, and Newt is about to jump to his feet. Incredibly, Credence stops him with a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“He had no idea magic existed. Or well, he had but he’d been told he was a squib,” Credence says. “Very luckily, somebody came along and corrected that mistake.” He squeezes Newt’s shoulder nearly possessively.

Dumbledore nods, though despite his pleasant expression Newt can spy thoughtful wrinkles on his brow. “I see that,” Dumbledore agrees and tilts his head. “But now I have to wonder, what made you write me in that case?”

He turns to Newt who suddenly feels like back in school. “Two issues,” he manages to say after floundering for a moment. “For one, I was wondering if you could recommend a tutor for Credence. He obviously had no magical schooling, and well, you know me.”

“I see,” Dumbledore says and twirls his beard. “Well, I think I might know somebody. But, Mister Barebone, do you really need tutoring? I have a feeling you’re rather advanced already.”

“Unevenly so,” Credence smoothly replies, and demurely inclines his head. “I learnt from the books and from Newt, but I’m afraid I’m not the most diligent student. For example, I have very little patience for runes, though I realize this knowledge is considered central to the education of witches and wizards."

“Well, that’s arguable. Not everybody wants to keep Ancient Runes on the syllabus,” Dumbledore says with a chuckle. “But I see your point.”

Then he pushes his glasses up. “Now, what is that second point?” And those penetrating blue eyes return to Newt, who shifts where he sits. All of a sudden his coat feels to warm and he tugs at his sleeves.

“Ah, that, that relates to the first issue. You see, since Credence was mixed up with Grindelwald in New York, I’m rather afraid the Ministry will come after him once he registers here.” Newt explains with forced levity. Cold sweat covers his back.

Dumbledore must sense it. “Mixed up with, Grindelwald,” he echoes. “The way you got mixed up, Newton?”

“Not quite,” Credence interrupts politely. Because unlike Newt he can look Dumbledore in the eye and lie without flinching. His dark eyes reveal nothing, and somewhere in the back of his mind Newt wonders if Credence is also a natural occlumens on top of everything.

“He targeted me,” Credence says, looking straight at Dumbledore. How much does he know about the ties between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, Newt wonders, and how did he find out. “He thought I was the key to some type of enormous power - it turned out he erred, and he was not kind. When he left, I would have been killed. I owe my life to Newt.” Credence demonstratively reaches out to rest a hand on Newt’s thigh.

Newt swallows drily.

Dumbledore’s lips press into a thin line. “I … see. This enormous power he pursued, was it an obscurus?”

“That was what he was after,” Credence confirms, and Newt flinches in disbelief at the easy confirmation. And yet - Credence’s words reveal nothing, and he even leans forward. “It’s always power, isn’t it? Incidentally, that orphan boy you just visited before coming here, was he powerful, too?”

Dumbledore’s eyes widen. Newt turns his head to stare at Credence - where does this mad guess come from, and how - judging by Dumbledore’s darkening expression - can it possibly be true?

“How do you know?” Dumbledore demands sharply. The air around him begins to coil. Newt sucks in a sharp breath. His wand is in reach - but this is Albus Dumbledore. This is madness.

“Cre -”

“Oh, I guessed,” Credence chuckles, deliberately ignoring the tense atmosphere. “I found this point a curious location for a meeting, but then when we came here I saw some newspapers mention strange events in the area. And then we passed the orphanage.” He shrugs delicately. “As I grew up in one as well, I’m afraid the guess came easily. But indulge me, -” his eyes turn hard - “that boy, does he have magic?”

Dumbledore, still dumbfounded, eventually nods. “Clearly so.”

“And will he be able to go to your school?” Credence demands.

“He will, yes,” Dumbledore slowly answers, and the electricity drains from the air. Newt belatedly realizes that the subtle magical charge had not only come from Dumbledore - but also from Credence.

But perhaps, it’s only too understandable. He had been that boy in an orphanage, too. Only there had been no magical school waiting for him.

Newt swallows. The rain outside suddenly sounds much louder.

“What is his name?” he asks spontaneously.

Both Credence and Dumbledore look to him with slight surprise. “Tom Riddle,” Albus replies.

The name doesn’t ring a bell. Just another poor orphan boy, Newt thinks, and frowns. On the other side of the gazebo, Dumbledore sighs and stands up. “I’m afraid I’ll have to be on my way. But I will get back to you with the addresses of a few persons who I believe could help you.”

“The Ministry -” Newt protests and rises to his feet himself.

Dumbledore shakes his head. “I don’t think you need to worry about them. A lot is changing recently, and if there ever was in investigation into the incident it has long since been closed.”

Newt breathes out a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile Dumbledore holds out his hand to Credence. “Mister Barebone, it was a pleasure. Perhaps we’ll meet again in the future - I’m looking forward to hearing about your progress.”

Credence shakes the hand with a charming smile of his own. “I hope so, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Newt, it was good to see you again. I’m curious about what your research will turn up next,” Dumbledore continues as he shakes Newt’s hand. “Though do take care - magical creatures can be highly unpredictable.”

Newt flushes. Credence reaches over and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, I’ll make sure nothing happens to him,” he declares lightly, but his grip is tight. “After all, where would I be without him?”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to drop me a line! Next chapter there'll be dragons!


	3. Hell, rising from a thousand thrones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world changes in ways that worry Newt. Credence not so much - until there is an incident with dragons. And Credence is reminded that Newt is a powerful wizard in his own right, and that there might be other people with designs on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the relationship is getting codependent and somewhat twisted. Just as the entire setting grows darker. However, we also have Newt metaphorically saving the day, and generally being a very decent person.

From then on, life changes again. Dumbledore makes extends invitations, makes introductions, and before long they receive invitations to nearly every major gathering in London’s wizarding community. Newt is highly respected - if not well-liked- and Credence more than glad to accompany him on any kind of academic of politic invitation. And while he initially may have tried to stay inconspicuous, Credence soon starts to assert himself. He has read the books, and he has a very intuitive grasp of magical theory. With which he manages to challenge several leading academics in the field.

At that point even more owls arrive. ‘Would you consider publishing your theory on the magical core?’ ‘Would you join a discussion group?’

In turn, by the time they make their way to the Ministry of Magic to finally get Credence’s papers in order, the head of department greets them personally. “Oh, Mr. Scamander, Mr. Barebone - how nice to see you here!”

He’s another one of the wizards that frequents the Westminster Club. That and the more irregular get-togethers the Malfoy family holds at their estate. Newt doesn’t like them too much (and the crowd there even less), but they have always generously funded research into magical creatures.

“Let’s see here,” the red-faced wizard mutters as he carries over a folder. “Born in New York, two siblings, yes, yes, moved to Britain, some chaos with the papers - I think we’ve got it all.”

He reaches over and stamps the papers with a bright blue seal. “Welcome to Britain, Mr. Barebone. Everything’s in order now.”

And just like that whatever threads connected Credence’s move from America to Britain with the mysterious appearance of an obscurus in New York are wiped out. Except for Newt, Credence (and likely Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald) nobody in Europe knows about Credence’s obscurus.

It’s the fresh start Newt wanted for him. And yet he can’t help the knot within him as he watches people cheerfully rewrite history to fit their own needs.

It feels a little too much like what others are doing. The words he hears whispered in shadowed corners of the clubs. Fragments of Grindelwald’s speeches, news from the continent.

There has been a shift in the political landscape. He doesn't know if it results from Grindelwald’s shifted strategies or the events in the muggle world, but among the circles he and Credence frequent talk has more often turned to dark magic. Spells that have been forbidden for centuries are being reexamined. Considered for their usefulness.

Newt himself doesn't know what to make of it. He is aware that not all that is considered dark magic is correctly labelled as such; he himself has campaigned to get more than one magical creature of that list.

But some of the spells (and the persons) make his skin crawl.

The muggles are developing new weapons, the first speaker on one of these meetings is saying, we need to keep up! And an audience consisting of elegantly dressed wizards and witches claps and cheers.

We need to defend ourselves! The speaker cries.

And Newt shivers and thinks of Grindelwald.

Next to him, Credence claps politely.

Credence Barebone is no longer the hunched-over boy in too thin slacks handing out pamphlets in New York. In Europe he has grown brilliant, eloquent and charming. His theories inspire, his past intrigues, and his smiles win sympathies. His clothes have been exchanged for well-tailored, if understated robes in dark colors, he has allowed his hair to grow to what many consider scandalous length but all agree looks enticing - and once his habit of tying it back becomes known, he had been receiving silk and lace ribbons from numerous potential suitors.

Newt watches all this unfold. And is torn between disbelief, amazements, and lately, unease.

His wishes for Credence - to leave behind his sad past, to know joy and magic - have come true. And yet Newt cannot help but wonder just where this road will lead. 

* * *

 

After another of those club evenings, they lie side by side in bed. Credence reads through an unpublished paper on magical theory; Newt is reviewing a publication on the mating habits of occamy - he already has caught several mistakes or dubious claims - but his heart isn’t in it. Rather, the remarks of one Arcturus Black linger in his mind.

“Credence,” he begins after a while. “During that last speech today - what did you think about it?”

Credence hums and doesn’t set the paper aside. “Nothing, really. You know I don’t care much for politics.”

Newt frowns, troubled. “I don’t particularly care for them either, but…” He’d always thought he’d just quietly stay out of the way, caring for his beasts. What use would politics have for them? Then came the war, and he’d learned.

“... but sometimes you can’t really escape them.”

Credence puts his papers aside and turns to gaze at Newt. His eyes wander to the open shirt hanging loosely from Newt’s shoulders. And the scars revealed underneath. “The war?” he guesses.

Newt nods.

It’s not a topic he likes to talk about. Much like Credence own past - they both have found the present more enjoyable. But they both have their own nightmares.

“I just wonder what is going to happen,” Newt continues, trying to find words for the growing unease in his chest. “The muggle world seems on the brink of another war, and … I wonder if we might not be drawn in. We’re closer to the muggles now. And recently … it has changed. What some of these people say…”

Credence reaches out lay his hand over Newt’s. “I’m afraid I have not paid much attention to the world of muggles recently,” his lips twitch in a grimace. “But I’ll take your world for it. As for the wizards - I’m not that familiar with the wizarding society here, so I don’t really know.”

Which makes sense. As much as it feels as if Credence has been here forever, it’s been just over a year now.

“All the cries about pushing back the muggles,” Newt begins. “About reasserting ourselves, and things like that.”

Credence tilts his head thoughtfully. “Abolishing the statue of secrecy?”

Newt nods, though his chest tightens. “Yes! It was installed for a very good reason, and I have a feeling they are blindly expecting the muggles to quiver in fear or somesuchthing when faced with magic.”

“And they’d be very wrong about that,” Credence replies with an ironic little smirk. “Perhaps it was that way during the Dark Ages. But nowadays… I haven’t kept up, but muggles can build things that even magic cannot accomplish. And muggles have weapons magic cannot guard against.”

Newt nods. “Yes. I’m not sure if everybody here has forgotten that, or whether they are willfully ignoring it.”

“Probably the latter,” Credence replies, and then his eyes go curiously flat. “No, if the wizarding world truly wants to challenge muggle technology, they need to advance their magic. Some of these papers,” he says and lifts the pages written in the tiny-print of a bespelled quill, “have very interesting ideas.”

Instinctively Newt stiffens. Credence’s grip on his hand tightens.

“It’s all highly theoretical,” Credence continues, “but there was this lovely theorem plucking apart time. It’s still one of the least understood dimensions, and yet very susceptible to magical manipulation.”

Ice runs down Newt’s spine. It’s not his area of expertise, but he knows who wrote that theorem.

“That’s the work of Dumbledore and Grindelwald!” he nearly exclaims.

Credence nods, entirely unperturbed. “I know. Dumbledore send it to me, including his notes. I do have some ideas on how to expand this, but I heard the line of inquiry is not being continued at the moment.”

“Credence, Gellert Grindelwald…” It ties up Newt’s throat. What that wizard has done - And that after all of it, he still hears his name spoken with respect, with admiration. Even Dumbledore appears to still be on friendly terms with him.

“Was the one who impersonated Graves and called me a squib,” Credence says. “He was very, very wrong. And he hurt you.”

His grip on Newt’s hand grows tighter again, and there’s a dark glow in his eyes that makes Newt hold his tongue.

“I certainly will not support a wizard like that. Because his theorem,” - the odd glow vanishes, the grip loosens, “- is once again, wrong.”

Newt relaxes. Sighs in relief and Credence chuckles at that reaction. “Don’t worry, Newt,” he says and leans over to bring their faces close. “I know where my loyalties lie. So do all your beasts and creatures.” 

* * *

 

“Mister Scamander!” somebody shouts across Diagon Alley and several heads jerk around. Newt flinches, wondering if he did anything wrong, but the next words are “you must come immediately!”

Running toward him and Credence, red-faced and panicked, is Harold Hornblum, the Minister of Magic’s secretary.

“Mister Hornblum? What is going on?” Newt asks, confused, and grips his freshly purchased books a little tighter. Hornblum slows down approaching them, totters on his feet, and appears about to reach out for Newt, but Credence subtly steps in between.

“Please explain this urgency, Mister Hornblum,” Credence inquires politely yet coldly. “One might think something terrible occurred.” The street around them has already started whispering, Newt notices.

Hornblum doesn’t care.

“Dragons,” the wizard gasps out. “The muggles triggered the Scottish greenback dragons - you know their reserve’s supposed to be off limits, and now they’re angry, and there’s so few left, but you know how strong they are.”

Scottish greenback dragons. Newt sucks in sharp breath. Some of the largest of their species and known most of all for their terrible tempers, ability to breathe fire, and terrible strength. Their only redeeming quality perhaps is that their scales have incredible magical properties and look pretty. They also tend to be lazy, but once angered -

“The reserve up in the Scottish highlands?” Newt asks to confirm, his mind already whirling. How did the muggles even get there - wasn’t the area chosen precisely because it was so far from human settlement?

Hornblum nods, and anxiously tugs at his own sleeves. “They've already sent a squad of Aurors over and evacuated the nearby village! But those are Scottish greenback!”

Newt swallows. He does not have fond memories of dealing with the greenbacks.

“Can't the Aurors handle it?” Credence asks calmly. The first few wizards and witches listening in on their conversation begin to turn away, discerning the emergency is relative.

Harold Hornblum flushes and gestures wildly. “Maybe. I don't know. But Mr. Scamander has handled them before, so -”

“I can do it,” Newt says quietly. And then his lips twitch. “Or at least try.”

“But that's dangerous,” Credence protests. “Doesn’t the Ministry have a dragon handler who is able to do this on contract? Or could you contact one?”

“Five are on payroll, yes,” Hornblum replies and runs a hand through his hair. “We tried to contact them. One’s in Mungos, two are out of reach and the other two we haven’t even tracked down yet! And the Aurors said the dragon already set most of the reserve on fire!”

Credence purses his lips. But before he can protest, Newt steps past him.

“I guess I’ll see what I can do until you reach one of your handlers then,” Newt shrugs. “Can you prepare a portkey?”

Relief breaks across Harold Hornblum’s face. “Thank you, Mister Scamander, thank you so much! The Minister will not forget your help!”

* * *

 

An hour later, dressed in fire-repellent cloaks bespelled with layers of protection charms, they apparate to the Scottish reserve. Dried grass crunches under his feet as he lands. And when he looks up he sees the grass has dried to brown - except where flames climb toward the sky to the east. Credence unconsciously clenches his fists as a shudder runs down his spine.

The entire eastern horizon is ablaze. And the biting wind carries terrifying howls.

“Oh dear,” Newt says, as one of the Aurors runs over to greet them. Credence still can’t tear his eyes away - he knows Newt’s beasts, has read about others. But this level of destruction, this pure power he can feel humming in the air - this is new.

“...contained, but they’re trying to break through,” a lady clad in a blue coat tells Newt with a deep frown on her face. “The barrier won’t hold, and there’s a rather big town just a few miles to the south.”

“If they get there it will be an unmitigated disaster,” a man exclaims anxiously. “But I’ve never seen the beasts so mad either, those muggles really set them off.”

If he squints, Credence can make out the nearly invisible dome over the fire. With the ground this dry, that is likely the only reason the fire hasn’t spread yet.

“And don’t they deserve to get their village burnt down in that case?” another wizard asks grimly. “In the old times muggles knew better than to go around and poke and prod - nowadays they have no respect for sacred lands.”

“Mister Brodbur, this isn’t the time,” the lady in blue interrupts sharply. “There are quite a few witches and wizards living in that town, to say nothing of the smaller magical settlement adjacent to it.”

Brodbur grimaces, but acquiesces. The lady turns her attention back to Newt. “Mister Scamander…?”

Newt takes a deep breath, apparently having come to some decision. “If you’ll let me enter the dome, I’ll see what I can do. I worked with those dragons before - they’re difficult to calm down, but it’s not impossible.”

You idiot, Credence wants to shout. You’ll get hurt.

The lady in blue nods. Turns to her colleagues to give instructions. Meanwhile Credence brushes his hand against Newt’s. “I’m coming with you,” he announces.

“Credence…” Newt begins to protest, but then the lady turns back to them.

“We’ve got an entry open! I suppose you know how to get yourself out, too,” she tells him.

Newt inclines his head. Credence follows him.

* * *

 

Under his skin, the obscurus hums with anxiety. Getaway, getaway, it whispers to Credence. This is dangerous, get away.

A dragon roars. Trailer by flames its gigantic body rushes by overhead, a black and red shadow against the night sky, close enough for Credence do feel the heat wash over his skin. Smell scorched flesh and brimstone and anger, and something primal in his chest shudders.

The obscurus shudders.

The air bristles with power; but this is not power humans may yield, this is raw and untamed and it will tear apart any who dare to touch it.

“Newt …” Credence begins, uncertain what to say. Let's leave, he wants to say. This is too dangerous, he thinks as the ground shakes beneath him.

But the spot next to him is empty.

Incredulously, Credence turns to see a familiar form silhouetted against house-high flames on a bit too distant hilltop.

A boom echoes even through the wild cacophony of fire.

Out of the flames, directly across Newt, a gigantic black shape arises. Credence’s blood runs cold.

“New -”

The dragon roars.

Credence starts running. Fear races through his veins; he doesn't know if he shakes from his pounding heart of the shaking ground, his mind screams at him to run away. But he can't abandon Newt, can't leave him here, not when Credence might help!

He sees Newt gesturing with his wand, can't hear the spells, but the flicker in and out, repelling the dragon’s attacks but barely so. Get away, get away, get away, Credence shouts wordlessly at the other. Run, you idiot!

But Newt doesn't run, merely defends himself and Credence doesn't know what he's trying to do - this is a dragon, this isn't some puffskein or niffler -

He sees the dragon rear up; wings (and up close he can see the green tint of the scales; they shine brilliantly in the fire light) unfold.

“Newt, get -” Credence screams.

The dragon roars again. A magical roar, Credence realized in the split second before he's torn off his feet and thrown through the air like a rag doll. The world twists and turns, nothing makes sense -

And when he comes to, he lies on dry grass several feet away, his entire body aching and his eyes slow to focus. But he can still make out Newt’s silhouette standing before the dragon, both surrounded by flames. The dragon’s wings spread, towering in all its terrifying size above Newt.

But then it lowers its head, a gesture first curious, then nearly demure, and the protective barrier around Newt flickers out of existence.

The dragon is intrigued. And no longer furious.

Newt has done it.

A spike of awe runs through Credence, accompanied by a shudder. For all his reluctance to engage with most other magicians, for his inability to master wandless magic beyond the simplest of spells - Newt is powerful.

The dragon huffs and Newt reaches out to touch its head. Credence can't hear what is being said; but he can imagine. Knows that the beast will desist know.

A roar - almost petulant - roses from somewhere in the fire, a far way of. The dragon next to Newt turns its head and answers - and the fury is gone, the dragons will settle.

Newt has done the incredible.

Credence feels his hands trembling. He knows how that power in the air felt, knows how much strength it must have taken Newt to ward against it - a power that so easily threw Credence off his feet.

He's forgotten, hasn't he? Just how powerful a wizard Newt is in his own right.

And what a delicious, exciting rediscovery it is.

Meanwhile the other Wizards have realized that the worst has passed. They start putting out the fires; relieved when no new flames flicker up. Hidden in the smoke, the dragons growl and grumble, and the ground shakes as several of them lift off. Credence can hear the whoosh of their powerful wings, and catches sight of glittering scales between orange flames.

Only the grand beast before Newt lingers.

And of course, Newt is talking to it. Credence may not hear the words, but he's all too familiar with the way Newt gesticulates - even though he's never seen Newt face off against a dragon.

The beast gives a huff that appears somewhere between exasperation and amusement, before turning around and flying off. Its takeoff blasts heat and dust into Credence’s face, and he hides behind his elbow.

When he looks up, Newt is on the ground.

And Credence starts running. Abruptly his heart is in his throat.

Yet before the panic can fully form, Newt sits up with a shake of his head and Credence realized that he only went down because he stood too close to the dragon.

He's not hurt.

Still, when Credence reaches him he can't stop himself from reaching out; grabbing Newt by the shoulders and bursting out “are you alright? Did it harm you, are you alright?”

Laughing, Newt shakes his head. “Not at all, not at all.” His eyes shine with mirth, and despite streaks of soot on his cheeks, Credence feels his own heart resonate with the joy written all over Newt’s face. 

“They were gorgeous. Did you see them, Credence? What gorgeous, intelligent creatures!”

* * *

 

When they return to their home, Credence pushes Newt against the wall. Kisses him deeply, hungrily. The display of power awoke something in him. Made him desire more.

Newt gladly gives into it.

And after, when Newt sleeps with his skin glowing softly, Credence finds his thoughts turning. The world is moving on, forward. He has always been patient to sit back, to allow Newt to handle it. But he has begun to understand -

There are things Newt is powerless against. Orders he cannot fight, people he will not go against. People who can order him away, into danger.  

But perhaps Credence can stop them. Because those people do not understand how precious this wizard is. Do not understand it all.

Credence does. He will not allow them to take Newt away from him.

So he slips into the suitcase and opens the door. Snowflakes hit him in the face, and icy wind goes right through his clothes - until it all fades away. Coiled in tendrils of darkest black, the other obscurus drifts toward him.

Credence can sense its curiosity. The obscurus in his own chest reaches out.

Go ahead, he thinks. Tell our brethren what is at stake.

Ask it to lend us its power.

_tbc_


End file.
